


painted black

by sundrymunity



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Established Relationship, M/M, mention of self-harm, no metaverse just two messed up kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 04:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundrymunity/pseuds/sundrymunity
Summary: soulmate AU where when you meet your soulmate, everything bad people have said to you appear on your skin, but only you and your soulmate can see itor two boys find words on each other and realize just how fucked up this world isAkechi’s chest shudders beneath him, the breathe exhaled just the same, and Akira gets a washcloth to clean off the rest of the concealer, just to see what was beneath. Half of Akechi’s face is the powdered perfection people see, the other half…I wish you were never born.“I must look disgusting to you,” Akechi mumbles lightly, trying not to reveal the depth of hisowndisgust. It doesn’t work. “So blackened and ugly.”





	painted black

Akechi always wore things that covered as much skin as possible, even in the summertime.

“Aren’t you hot?” Akira asks once, feeling stifled himself at the sight of the other boy in long sleeves and a sweatervest. Akechi gestures meaninglessly in the air – something just to fill it where words can’t be found immediately, he’s realized by now – and smiles.

“No, not really. The humidity isn’t so bad today.”

They both know he overheats easily, though, and Akira buys him a popsicle on their walk around. It’s blue, stains his lips and tongue, and Akechi’s mouth tastes sweet when they kiss, tinged with a melting dessert. Akira’s hand slips between Akechi’s pants and shirt to untuck it, hands gliding up his side, and with a shudder Akechi kisses him harder.

But that’s all it ever gets to, the first sign of clothes riding up causing him to flinch away with some excuse.

Akira wonders if Akechi’s afraid of something. Of _him_.

  


There’s days where Akechi stares at him like there’s something on his face, like he’s studying every part of Akira with a keen eye, and Akira’s skin gives away the embarrassment he feels boiling beneath. Just a bit. He’d always been told he was lucky he didn’t blush as hard as most, and this is one of those times that he’s thankful for it.

He’s also thankful his voice is more coy than stuck in his throat. “See something you like?”

“No,” Akechi answers immediate and honestly, jarring them both; Akira’s surprise is more at _Akechi’s_ surprise than the word itself, and Akechi’s eyes dart away as he licks his lips. “… Put a shirt on. Your skin’s blinding.”

His eyes flick down and he sees the ink sprawling across his own skin, the paleness being slowly overtaken by black with each passing day.

“I’m working on a tan.”

“You’ll burn.”

Akira’s nose scrunches as he laughs, catching Akechi’s gaze again and leaning on the counter. “Come upstairs and make me put one on.”

The other scoffs and declines, just like Akira thought he would, but wears the shade of red well on his cheeks.

  


It takes forever for Akira to learn why Akechi covers up, dragging the shirt up and spotting the first signs of ink, characters marring his otherwise clear skin. Akechi doesn’t look at him and Akira realizes that the other’s known for so, _so_ much longer about their connection, that the reason he’d never been able to take his eyes off Akira’s body and want to look at him was the same.

_Useless brat_ , he reads. _Burden. Freak. Whore’s son._

They cover so, _so_ much of Akechi’s body, fading out when they hit his collarbones and Akira rubs with a wet thumb until they become whole once more.

_Asshole. Prick. Pretentious douchebag. Who’d ever wanna be friends with a know-it-all like that?_

Akechi’s chest shudders beneath him, the breathe exhaled just the same, and Akira gets a washcloth to clean off the rest of the concealer, just to see what was beneath. Half of Akechi’s face is the powdered perfection people see, the other half…

_I wish you were never born._

“I must look disgusting to you,” Akechi mumbles lightly, trying not to reveal the depth of his _own_ disgust. It doesn’t work. “So blackened and ugly.”

_No,_ Akira wants to say and finds the words caught in his throat. _You’re not the ugly one_.

Anger flares through every inch of him the more he reads, the more Akechi reveals, skin tattooed with every harsh word spoken in true hatred, petty annoyance, heat of the moment frustration. His own is marked with things too, sure, they’ve even multiplied since his conviction and entrance to Shujin, but it’s _nothing_ like what Akechi’s got. What he imagines is imprinted on the rest of his friends.

This, more than anything in the world, _proves_ that Akechi belongs with them.

“I wish it was the opposite,” he mumbles as he leans down to kiss Akechi, fingers tracing the characters across his skin and smiling when the other arches against his touch, craving it, “that all the good words were written instead. You’d still be covered head to toe.”

Akechi laughs hollowly against his lips, eyes mahogany in the light, and cards his hands through Akira’s curls tentatively. Still unsure about showing so much of himself. It’s a good thing, Akira tries to convey without words, curling over Akechi and caging his head with his arms. It’s good that he’s opening up. The words marring Akechi aren’t opinions he shares for the most part (he _is_ a prick sometimes, a know it all for certain, jerk and asshole fit just as well) and he wishes he could erase them all with a rub of his thumb, with ghosting kisses and whispered compliments.

There’s scars here and there, evidence that Akechi had tried to scrape them off himself, and Akira doesn’t ignore them or the way Akechi flinches at the contact, though he does stop the other from trying to move away. They stare at one another, stubborn and hot, until Akechi shoves at him with a huff.

“Pretend like they’re not there. It’s not like they matter.”

Seeing it in a mirror day after day is exhausting, a constant reminder of failures and fuck ups, of shortcomings and other’s thoughts. Akira had gotten into the habit of facing the door when he brushed his teeth himself.

He lingers when he can in defiance of Akechi’s self-loathing. Tests his patience in moments, toes the line as dangerously as he dares, steadily getting him used to the gentle touches and slow caresses that aggravate him so, mouthing sweet words against the ones that’ve caused him such pain, forced such _distance_.

Akira might not be able to physically erase them (nothing can, save make up apparently) but he can at least make them _truly_ meaningless when Akechi looks at himself.

Akechi’s skin turns red beneath the black, breath hitching and body shuddering, _surrendering_ , and it’s hard not to just take all he can, devour it completely like it’s the last time he’ll have it. It’s harder still when Akechi breathes his name reverently, rolling the syllables like he’s asking for God, and Akira groans.

_Fuck_ , if that isn’t the hottest thing.

They pick up the pace, desperate to cover the words with scratches and bruising hickeys, and Akira’s thrilled that they have the same idea, that they meld so well together, that Akechi can forget for a little while that there’s anything there at all; Akira does too, everything blurring together and disappearing against the slap of skin, heat swelling, the scent of sweat and sex permeating the air.

_Sensitive_ , he traces on Akechi’s thigh, the other making a noise of complaint that shudders with the rest of him. _Beautiful_ drawn next, and beside that _hot_ and _clever_. _Smart, bold, flexible_.

Akechi’s inquiry is exasperated and exhausted, “What are you _doing_ , Akira?”

“Fixing a few things.” _Fun to be with. Aggravating, in a good way. Lovely._ “Hey, got a pen?”

“What? No.”

_Great smile, great ass._ “Too bad.” _Worth the world. “_ Would’ve liked to mark these out for real.”

“– _Akira_ ,” with a shove that dislodges him from beside Akechi, the other looking some sort of combination of confused and irate. Tired, maybe? Something. “They’re there for a reason,” he continues softer, and his gaze flicks away as he sinks back into the bed, focusing on a string he rolls between his fingers. “One day, I won’t even remember what I looked like before all of these.”

Akira scoots back in beside him, curling his arm around Akechi’s waist and moving closer, watching the string too. Just because he can’t get rid of them doesn’t mean he has to add to them, he decides. Just because there’s a reason doesn’t mean it’s _right_. He wishes he could fix them for real, each character stretching across Akechi’s skin like it’s tattooed there, moving with muscle beneath it. “I think you’re beautiful,” he offers quietly, uncertain if that’s the right thing to say. It’s true, after all. It’s true and his mouth is cotton when the spinning stops. “You shouldn’t have so much on you. This kind of thing shouldn’t even happen. But you’re still alive, and… I think you’re strong.”

There’s no beauty in suffering. Nothing romantic in bearing a burden. But Akechi _is_ strong, there’s no doubt about that, and Akira huffs laughter softly.

“I mean, most of this,” a gesture to his ink splattered form, nowhere _close_ to Akechi but remarkable nonetheless, “is from this year, you know? A lot of it is just the same thing over and over. They get darker with repetition, I noticed.” He inhales sharply, Akechi’s eyes turning to him as he pushes the blanket past the crest of their hips, shivering at the chill above the covers. “I found people that made it bearable. Sure, they couldn’t see the things you and me do,” _soulmates_ , something that would be exciting if it wasn’t born and bonded in this, companions who can see the other’s pain, “but they still knew, and they didn’t care what anyone said. What was written on me.”

Akechi didn’t seem like he had anyone. Despite being surrounded by so many people, despite being so loved, it just… seemed empty, somehow. Distanced.

Akira watches Akechi, how he sinks into the bed more and more, and plops a hand onto his head, carding through the chestnut locks gently. “They wouldn’t care about yours either.”

“Do you?” It’s a silly question and Akechi looks like he knows it is, but considering even that short question sounded like it took a lot to say Akira doesn’t blame him for not following it up.

“Nah. I don’t really care about what anyone says about you, Akechi.” With a gentle flick to his forehead. “You’re not _that_ special.”

Akechi stares at him, swollen lips parted, and Akira’s smile quirks up again. “They’re in the past, you know. Those words. They don’t matter to me, because you’re not any… well, you’re not _most_ of the things written.”

“My, aren’t you romantic.” Scratchy and soft, but a response. The sarcasm makes him grin.

“You’re an aggravating prick, Akechi. That’s just how it is.”

“And _you’re_ an annoying mophead.”

Akira squints his eyes, not remembering _that_ particular insult on his person, and Akechi’s playful smile tells him that it was never there to begin with; he shoves the other lightly, huffing.

… Still, fondly spoken as they are, they don’t appear. Akechi tentatively reaches out to lay his hand on Akira’s, warm and tense. He squeezes gently. “Thank you. You really do say interesting things, Akira.”

Things that make him think, intriguing and – if Akira could take this claim – things Akechi’s never heard before. He wants to find more of those things and pile them onto Akechi, suffocate him with words once rare, wipe that sad look off his face and surround him with people who wouldn’t care even if they _could_ see all the words running across his skin. The world that’d printed such things onto Akechi didn’t deserve him; he was with Akira now, was with the rest of his friends group, and _hell_ to those that wanted him back.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! this was an interesting soulmate au i actually hadn't heard of before, and while i could never build a world around this one (but maybe something else in the future, i love soulmate aus i will die by them) i did enjoy writing a piece for it. i hope you did too!


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